It's A Girl!
by Amberlia
Summary: Ian Rider is not a family man. Nor one of sentimentality. But when John and Helen die, he is forced to take custody of his last living blood relative-his niece, Sasha. He doesn't have many soft spots, but one of them is her. Determined to shield her from the dangerous world of espionage by training her, will he turn her into the very thing he swore he would protect her from? AU.
1. Helen's Face and John's Eyes

The death of John and Helen had been shocking. Sad, and shocking, sure, considering that they were one of his last living family members. But Ian was used to casualties and death and he'd known that as soon as John had gotten involved in all this, he'd bring down at least a few other people.

He got Helen killed. But their child had lived. An ear infection had prevented the child from joining them on their flight. And fortunate that was because the plane had blown up, leaving no survivors.

Ian had been relieved to hear that the child had lived, naturally, but then came the idea of who could gain custody of her. Sasha Rider hadn't even been a year old when her parents' death occurred. It hadn't occurred to Ian that the responsibility would fall on him, her last living relative, to take her in.

It was after the funeral. John and Helen had been buried next to his parents. Rest in peace. Now he'd get to visit all three of them in one go. He put down flowers every day for a week after.

He had been summoned to the Royal and General. He was already a well-established agent, known well around the bank, friendly with everyone if not only on the surface. Ian had made it a habit not to get too close to anyone. Look what had happened to John.

Mrs. Jones was standing in the meeting room when he got there. Mr. Blunt was nowhere to be seen. There was, however, another woman, pacing as she held a sleeping baby in her arms.

Ian's stomach twisted. He'd seen the shock of blonde hair and knew what this was about.

"Another mission?" He was ready for this, as he took a seat. If it was a mission, he could do it. He tried not to think about the woman's presence, the baby that probably looked so much like Helen.

"Agent Rider," Mrs. Jones was sucking on a peppermint. He could smell the mint from where he was sitting, though he was careful to keep his distance. "I think you know why you're here."

He sighed and nodded. No beating around the bush. He was a practical man, realistic, and he didn't like to fantasize or dream. If he had to step up, he needed to do it now.

"That's Sasha,"

She had been at the funeral with the nanny, mostly asleep. Ian had paused to check on her. She looked like a reasonably cheerful baby, no ideas or cares in the world.

How much longer that would remain was beyond his control.

"She's three months old now." Mrs. Jones said. The woman, presumably a nanny was singing softly and smiling at the baby. Sasha slept on. "You're her last living relative…"

Ian nodded. He wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready to take care of such a tiny and frail thing. He was a spy; he ruined and occasionally took lives. He didn't _nurture _them. It wasn't in his capacity. He'd held Sasha a few times but that was with John or Helen's supervision. He had never trusted himself to be alone with his niece. He doubted he ever would; as with most things in his life, he'd have to work past the discomfort.

Ian startled but didn't move, as he felt a warm weight being pressed into his hands.

Ian was not ready for this. He was not ready to become a parent, a guardian to this _thing. _It had taken nine months to make Sasha and in less than a minute, he could easily ruin it.

He took a few deep breaths, forcing himself not to panic. Mrs. Jones was watching him; he knew she had children. The woman had left, quietly.

Ian was a spy. He could do this. Totally. Definitely. It was one child, one kid, against him. He'd handled grown men twice his size. He'd evaded bullets and knives. If he couldn't take care of one small baby girl, he'd really start questioning his own abilities as a spy.

!*!

Paperwork, Ian was used to. After missions, paperwork was sometimes the only thing he'd see. He liked to bang it out quickly, get it over with so he wouldn't have to think about it later.

Custodial paperwork took some more time. First, he had to demonstrate that he knew how to take care of Sasha. He took parental classes, learning everything from comforting to changing diapers to making bottles. Now, whenever he walked into the Royal and General, he got a few sympathetic looks.

This irritated him. He didn't want sympathy. He could do this. One kid. It was one kid. Not like John and Helen had gone on to have twins or triplets or anything like that. He was grateful; one child was enough for him.

"You've done well," Mrs. Jones said. Ian was now holding Sasha, feeling better equipped to handle the young child. He was careful to hold her supporting her head and neck, cradled against his shoulder. She was awake, but not too fussy; she had already been fed by the nanny that had been taking care of her.

"Where's Mr. Blunt, by the way?"

"Business negotiations."

The way she said it was casual, too casual. Ian wondered if it had something to do with John. He pushed it away. He had enough on his plate at the moment without SCORPIA and finding his dead brothers' killers. Besides, he thought, bitterly, he had a feeling he knew who was responsible. Yassen fucking Gregorovich. For someone so seemingly loyal to his brother, he had no qualms betraying the man when it really mattered.

!*!

The first few days with Sasha were a routine.

Ian didn't like this. Spies didn't have routines. He liked being unpredictable. One day in Malta, the next in Hong Kong was the way he lived. But babies didn't like that. Babies had routines.

At four in the morning, she'd start crying. He'd get up, groggily, change her diaper and feed her. He was getting better at it but it was still difficult, fumbling around in the dark for the powder and ointment and wiping her down. Her motor skills were improving and she was beginning to move, lifting her head up. She could grab at him now, not really hold him, and while he tried to patiently humor her, oftentimes, he'd just sigh and try to keep her wandering hands away.

He'd get another few hours of sleep before she'd cry again around eight. Then he'd wake up, change her diaper, feed her again and try to engage with her. This had been a crucially important step in the classes he'd taken. He talked to her. Helen had always favored a slightly, babyish talk and even John had taken that approach.

Ian felt uncomfortable doing that. In a weird way, he felt like he was insulting her intelligence. Sasha proved to be quiet smart, and her wide dark eyes had a sharpness and curiosity to them. The nanny had warned him to watch her at all times. She'd offered to live with them for a bit, to ease him in, but Ian wasn't comfortable with the idea of someone else around the house so he'd declined.

Ian had tried plain English until she was four months old before he'd realized that John had been speaking in French with her the entire time. No wonder she looked confused at the sudden language change.  
He'd switched to French, and she was much more receptive to listening to him.

The rest of the day would be interspaced with diaper changes, feedings, and holding her as he struggled to get the paperwork done. Mrs. Jones was lenient on him, allowing him to submit paperwork a little later than usual.

Ian would talk about his day in French with Sasha, feeling that she might like that. He'd play with her, sometimes taking her around the house with her rested on his shoulder. She seemed to like him, something he found a little surprising. Not many people genuinely liked him. Every time he'd pass her crib, even if it was to grab something, she'd look at him and smile.

She was growing on him, he realized, one day as he was up in the middle of the night. She'd been crying and crying for the past ten minutes and it seemed that the only thing she needed was comfort. While in the beginning, he'd felt annoyance and irritation, he was now resigned to it. The movements automatic, he'd have her back in her crib.

She got bigger. hey celebrated six months. Well, he celebrated with a glass of scotch. Sasha snored away in her crib, unawares.

He still went to the Royal and General, taking Sasha with him in her carrier. He got some looks; Ian Rider, rising MI6 agent, carrying a baby? But he had learned to ignore the looks. He was here for business, and business only.

Mr. Blunt returned from negotiations and Ian went back to talking to him. He wasn't pleased about Sasha; the baby only seemed to cry and distract Ian every time they talked. Mrs. Jones looked amused and Ian knew it was because of him.

From twenty-seven-year-old Ian Rider, fleeting, brilliant star and spy, to Ian Rider, the uncle who would hold his niece even when they were in a meeting and Mr. Blunt looked annoyed. There was a much softer side to Ian; he just hid it well. Soon he knew he'd have to get a nanny, someone to look after Sasha, but even he was reluctant to part with the girl by this point. He'd grown attached, always deadly in his line of work, but he didn't care. There was something nice, quiet, comforting about watching his niece grow up, looking like Helen but with John's sharp brown eyes.

Besides, he'd prefer that over listening to terrorist wars and mass bombings.

Sasha had soon learned to say his name. "E-ann." She'd reach out for him. Ian had not liked the term 'uncle'. It reminded him too unpleasantly of what circumstances had led him to being here, and made him feel old. Even though he was soft with her, there was still a certain strictness he obeyed. No father nonsense. He was not her father, he'd never be and he would never encourage her to say it. Her father was scattered ash, anyway, floating somewhere in the breeze.

"E-ann" celebrated twenty-eight at home. Mrs. Jones wished him; Blunt had conveyed his regards. Smithers' had sent a card that detonated after he read it. Classic Smithers'. He couldn't stop from grinning, as he relaxed with Scotch and Sasha crawling near his feet. She'd been moving around more. He hadn't bothered baby proofing the house, considering that she was almost always with him. Still, he figured that he'd soon have to give her the whole 'don't stick your fingers in the electrical sockets' talk.

She was now babbling in French at ten months old, pointing at things as she tried to say them. It made him laugh, sometimes, her pronunciations and the way she genuinely tried. Still, the accent would clear up if she kept progressing the way she was. "La Fenetre," she'd point at the window. "Une pomme."

The doctor said she was developing well for her age. Ian couldn't help but feel the slightest bit triumphant; the doctor had clearly looked surprised at Sasha meeting all her developmental age milestones. She was an intelligent child and with a little pushing from Ian, she'd easily be above average.

Everything was going well until she was eleven months old. That was when the house was bombed.

!*!

**A/N: This idea occurred to me in my sleep-deprived state, lol. And I was like, why not? **

**Anyway, to clarify a few things. **

**First, Sasha, like Alex, was born on February 13th, 1987. Presumably, John and Helen died when she/he was three months old, making the date sometime in May. Ian Rider at the time was twenty-seven years old. In cannon, he had yet to be recruited by MI6 but in this story, he was recruited when he was around twenty-five or so. **

**Ian Rider is, again, presumably, Alex/Sasha's closest and only living blood relation. He gained custody of her when she was around three months old. Sasha/Alex would have celebrated their six month birthday on August 13th. For the purpose of this story, Ian's birthday is sometime in September, when Alex/Sasha is seven months old. **

**Canonically, Alex/Sasha Rider was born in East London so I'm assuming Ian has a house in that area. That's where they were staying. **

**Few more things: **

**-'Sasha' is the Russian diminutive of 'Alexander'. **

**-Ian and Sasha have been speaking French at home since she was four months old. Ian originally started because John had spoken to Sasha in a similar manner. In this story, his original intention wasn't to train Alex/Sasha to become a spy from a young age. **

**-Jack isn't introduced onto the scene until Sasha is much older, even in cannon. So Ian stuck around. **

**-Mrs. Jones loses her children sometime around this time because, in canon, she proves to have a soft spot for children. I inferred she might have had children that would have been Alex's age if they had lived, thus, the age similarities. **

**-This part of the story is faster paced than the rest, mainly because I wanted to establish what kind of man Ian was and his love for Sasha. After this, the pace will change and slow down considerably. **

**Don't forget to review, favorite and follow! Tell me what you think. I'm open to criticisms, comments, questions, etc. **

**Happy Writing!**

**-Amber **


	2. Dry Cleaning

**Happy September everyone! Now we have school...ugh. :( **

**My head is actual throbbing at the thought of going back to school, but education is important, people, and it's important that everyone stays focused on their work!**

**Well, here's to hoping that this schoolyear is good for all the students out there. And here's to hoping that this work year is good for all the working people here.**

**And here's to the people who don't have either of that. Just have a good year, yeah?**

**Though, I just realized that if you live in India, or anywhere similar, this doesn't apply to you (In India, summer vacation is during April/May). Still in India, though, so I don't have to go back to school for another week. Yes for that! **

**Where did the summer go? I swear that this summer went so quickly, like seriously, the days just flew. I hope everyone's summer went by well!**

**Okay, I'll stop now and get on with the actual story. **

In his arms, Sasha stirred, reaching for his tie. He turned the news over in his mind, a little numb, but detached from the situation. Ian and his niece had gone to the bank, another briefing by Mr. Blunt, more paperwork, and visiting Smithers', who was rather delighted by the idea of having a young child around. Ian could practically see the gears turning in the man's head, no doubt thinking about what gadgets and gizmos he could fit the young girl with.

Sasha, on the other hand, was more interested in the various toys that littered the workshop, despite the very real possibility that they might kill her.

But the house being bombed? When had it happened? As soon as they left? It appeared so. Once again, he cursed the fact that he had a routine. How could he have become so careless?

It had been mere luck that had saved him. The clocks, for some reason, had all been set to three hours behind. Ian had left the house with Sasha earlier then he was supposed to. If the clocks hadn't malfunctioned the way they did, Ian would still be sleeping, Sasha in her crib, as the house had exploded.

The news had come to him in the afternoon. MI6 had got there first, trying to find anything of importance. It was an expert job; nothing left but ashes and rubble. It would be easy to replace the credit cards; MI6 was a generous employer, in that sense, and the sooner they had Agent Rider back on his feet, the better. For now, he rented out a hotel room.

Sasha didn't even seem to notice the difference. He knew it would be much more difficult when she was older and more curious, more inquisitive, more fitted with the ability to ask, "why?"

So he cherished these months where she could only babble incoherently in French.

"A tragedy," Blunt had said when Ian was called into his office. Sasha was with Smithers'; Blunt was being remarkably tolerant, but even he didn't want to push his luck when it came to Sasha.

But really. The rich irony of it. For Blunt, this was hardly the tragedy. Ian didn't roll his eyes though he did in his head. A tragedy was when hundreds of people were killed, not when a house was bombed. There must be some ulterior motive.

"How long till you are able to work again?"

There it was.

"With Sasha," he shrugged, "I don't know."

"Perhaps it's time you hired a nanny."

"What's the rush?"

Blunt squinted, looking up from the papers he was writing.

"Developmentally, it might be better for her to have a familiar face around," Ian added.

"Keep in mind as she gets older, the attachment will grow stronger. I suggest you get her used to absences,"

Ian frowned. "She's not even one year old."

"The first thousand days are formulative to who she will become later." There was something in Blunt's voice that made him suspicious. He had a feeling that the man wasn't just referring to personality-wise.

"I think it's a little early to start thinking about a career, isn't it?"

"She's a Rider. She may have potential."

He scoffed. "She's not going to become a _spy." _

Blunt didn't say anything more after that.

!*!

Sasha was playing on the floor of Smithers' workshop with some kind of ball.

Ian pointed at it. "That's safe, right?"

Smithers laughed, jovially. "Of course! That one's the nonexplosive kind-the explosive kind is locked away. Somewhere."

"Thank God for that," he muttered, taking a seat on one of the stools. He watched Sasha as she played with the ball, then seemed to notice his presence for the first time. He wouldn't exactly say he felt touched, but he certainly did feel something warm and glowy in his chest as she crawled over to him, grabbing onto his pants legs.

"EE-ANN."

"_Salut, Sasha,"_

"_Elle parle francais?" _Smithers asked. Ian hadn't even realized that the man could speak the language.

"_Oui." _

"_Non anglais?" _

Ian shook his head. She would learn English when she went to nursery school, wouldn't she? She was a fast learner. As soon as she grasped French, he might be able to introduce another language. German? Or maybe Spanish?

"What did Mr. Blunt say?" Smithers switched back to English. Ian figured he may not be that comfortable in French to hold a conversation in it.

"Mostly paperwork and how I need to start working again." He thought about what Blunt had said about Sasha. Uneasily, he absent-mindedly stroked what hair the girl already had. Smithers was bounded by confidentiality and was a likable man who wouldn't say much. Still, Ian was careful. "He mentioned Sasha."

"Oh?"

"This is going to sound a little...crazy, but I think he wants her to follow the family line. You know, the business."

"Ah." Smithers picked up a pen, seeming to check for something in it. "And you disagreed."

"Yes. It's a little too early to be thinking about careers."

"Well, to be honest, old chap, it's a little too early to be thinking about anything regarding that."

Ian snorted. "Tell that to him."

They talked some more, though this time, the conversation was not about Sasha. When Ian left with Sasha, in an inconspicuous car to their hotel, he'd managed to push those thoughts away.

!*!

Sasha's first birthday came. He didn't know exactly how to celebrate this. On the one hand, it was her birthday. But on the other hand, who was he supposed to get to come? He was generally too busy with work to stop and socialize so friends options were very limited. Outside of MI6, he didn't know many people. Of importance, at least.

So he just took her to work with him. Smithers, of course, had something for her. It was a stuffed bear.

"This is safe?"

Smithers laughed as he watched Sasha examine the bear in curiosity. "One hundred percent. No hard bits, no plastic, and certainly no choking bits. Happy first birthday, Miss Rider."

The girl looked up at him from where she was seated, the bears arm already in her mouth. She smiled. "SMITH!" She'd learned the man's name, though she couldn't say it fully. Smithers chuckled.

"Feel free to leave her here. Mr. Blunt is expecting you in his office."

Ian nodded. "Haven't seen Mrs. Jones in a while."

"Oh." Smithers quieted. "You didn't hear?"

"No."

"Her husband, and children...they're gone."

Ian forced himself to remain impassive as he heard the news. "Oh." Involuntarily, he glanced at his niece. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Smithers nodded.

Not really knowing to say, he excused himself and took the elevator up to Blunt's office. He knocked on the man's door.

"Enter."

The man looked like he hadn't so much as moved since the last time Ian had seen him. He wore the same suit, the same tie, the same hair combed neatly to one side in a side parting. Ian wondered if he even left the office at all.

"I assume the house is coming along?"

"Yes."

"Good, good. What about the nanny?"

He had expected the question. "I'm working on it," he replied, cooly, though he really had given no consideration to the thought at all.

"If you wish, MI6 could find one."

"Thank you but I have it under control." He swiftly changed the topic. "The Shanghai assignment-?"

"Yes. We were considering giving it to you but considering your current situation…"

Ian hesitated but didn't rise to the bait.

"A simple assignment, really. Just surveillance." Blunt went on.

"How long?"

"One to two weeks at most."

Ian considered. He could leave Sasha alone for one to two weeks, right? She was one now. Even though he didn't exactly like the idea of entrusting care to someone else, she'd be fine.

It's just two weeks. He leaned forward, his hands on the desk.

"I'm interested,"

!*!

Staggering, Ian stumbled up the stairs to his apartment building.

It was early morning, so early that the sun had barely made an appearance in the sky. Ian fumbled with his keys, letting himself into the flat. He clutched his arm, trying to stop the steady flow of blood. Breath. Breath.

He let himself in. Hopefully, his roommate was asleep.

No such luck. Biming blinked from the couch, underneath a mass of blankets.

"_Ewan? What happen?" _He asked in Mandarin Chinese.

"_I'm fine," _though he was not, he gritted his teeth, limping into the bathroom, "_just a little fight." _

"_You are bleeding!" _

"_Yes." _Ian grabbed the first aid kit from the bathroom. "_Do we have ice?" _

He heard the fridge door open and close as Biming stepped into the bathroom, handing him a pack of ice.

"_I'll be fine," _he waved him away.

Biming, unsure, backed away. Ian sighed, propping his foot up. He didn't mean to push him away; he meant well, but Ian wasn't used to entrusting other people, especially with things like his own care. Even hospitals were suspicious to him, and he almost always stuck to tried and true hospitals instead of experimentation. He started to clean the various cuts on his foot, pausing occasionally to pick up the tweezers and extract pieces of glass. His mind wandered to Sasha. He'd left her with a German woman, Herr Marie, an elderly woman who only spoke French and German. This worked well-French was for communication, and it wouldn't hurt to introduce German to Sasha. Marie had been cleared by MI6, so Ian breathed a little easier knowing that his niece was safe.

He hissed in pain as he dabbed antiseptic onto the cuts.

It had already been a week and so far, he was only halfway done. Blunt had lied; why wasn't he surprised? It would be more difficult to extract the information from the security firm. And with his injuries…

At least he hadn't broken anything. He peeled off his shirt, examing himself in the mirror. The scars from previous missions had faded but there were nasty bruises littering his normally pale skin. He looked at his arm, where a long cut ran horizontally across the top of his bicep.

After bandaging everything, he emerged from the bathroom, holding the ice to his chest. He changed into new clothes, then wandered into the living room. Biming's eyes flickered toward him before quickly looking away.

"_Sorry," _Ian took a breath, "_did I wake you up?" _

"_No." _He was clearly lying. "_What happened to your chest?" _

"_Bar fight." _

Biming raised his eyebrows. "_You drink too much?" _

"_Sort off." _Truth was, Ian had been completely sober when he'd thrown his punches and gotten ambushed later. "_Anything good on TV?" _

"_Maybe you should go to doctor." _

"_I'm fine. Really." _

They watched in silence as Biming flicked through channels. Ian half paid attention. The adrenaline high was wearing off, leaving weary tiredness. He could feel last night's lack of sleep catching up to him but he couldn't afford to rest. Had the men followed him back?

"_If anyone asks for me, just say you don't know." _

Biming blinked. "_Are you in trouble?" _

"_Debts." _

"_Oh." _

"_Just pretend you've never heard of me." _

Biming seemed to get it but he was more worried about the fact that the TV had fizzled out. Ian's primary worry was the men, their guns, and infiltrating the security compound. He couldn't get his Chinese roommate involved in this. Besides being a student, Biming had nothing to do with this.

He was considering leaving, getting a room somewhere else when there was a knock on the door.

"_Who is it?" _

Ian stiffened. "_I'll get it," _he said, "_could you go into your bedroom?" _

"_Why?" _

"_Just do it!" _

Slowly, his roommate went into his room. Ian fingered the gun he had, then approached the door. There was more knocking.

"_Who's there?" _

"_Mail." _

Ian instantly knew what was wrong. Mail wasn't delivered door to door. The door opened, a man moving into the room. He had barely noticed Ian before Ian had shot him. A clean headshot.

Another man moved into the room, this one smarter. He sidestepped, a knife flashing out from his palm. He swiped at Ian, who easily dodged. Amateurs.

He shot him too. There appeared to be no one else. Slowly, he closed the door. Biming poked his head out from the bedroom.

"_What happen-" _his eyes widened at the sight of the two men, bleeding out. He gagged, running into the bathroom. Ian sighed. He didn't blame Biming.

"_I'll clean it up." _

He wondered how much dry cleaning cost for blood on the carpet. Normally, MI6 handled such damages. Slightly peeved (couldn't the men have waited until he was out of the apartment to attack him?) he picked up the landline, dialing a nearby dry cleaning place.

!*!

"_Salut, Sasha," _

Sasha seemed to be glad to have him back. She had progressed from crawling to scooting along on the floor. Marie followed behind her.

"_Hallo, EE-ANN," _

Ian raised his eyebrows at Marie, who shrugged.

"_Sie lernt sehr schnell," _

After paying Marie, Ian allowed himself to pick up Sasha. He could file the reports at the bank later. Blunt could wait.

!*!

**Don't forget to favorite, follow and review! Suggestions, criticisms, comments, etc. are welcome! I'd like to thank SmileyRusy and Oborenai for following and favoriting, as well as adding me to their favorite author's list. **

**Thanks guys!**

**Happy Writing!**

**-Amber **


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